Heroin-e
by CA Hawkins
Summary: A small predicament gathers some important and highly dangerous people in one room as they discuss about an idiot.


**_Notes:  
I am so sorry. I was beginning to write "Intersection," "A Scandal in Hogwarts", "Let Me Entertain You", and "Sherlock Holmes and the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"._**

 ** _But I ended up accidentally writing this one. It's a one-shot, thankfully... so this means I don't have to add another WIP on my list to finish._**

 **—oOo—**

"What is my brother up to _now_ , Doctor Watson?" Mycroft asks the moment John presses the call button of Mycroft's private phone.

"Evening to you, too, Mycroft."

"Save me the pleasantries, Doctor Watson. What did Sherlock do this time?"

"Mycroft, he hasn't been seen by anyone for _weeks_. Greg told me he's been declining cases—even above '8' cases—and those are his favourites. I asked Molly and she said Sherlock hadn't consulted her for dead body parts either. Mrs Hudson said he's been quiet all—"

"No reports from the security about my brother has been received. Sherlock seemed to have locked himself in two hundred and twenty-one B Baker Street. So what ignited for you to make this rather _pleasant_ phone call, _Doctor Watson_?" Mycroft asks almost irritatedly.

 _He's probably impatient for information about Sherlock_ , John thinks.

"You said it yourself. He should be in his flat but I'm here right now... and it's empty."

Mycroft raises himself from his seat in alarm at the statement. Sherlock couldn't have passed his security, could he? Of course, he would. Only Sherlock is capable of fooling him after all.

"And this is grave news to you because...?"

"Because... Well... Okay, Sherlock takes coffee every morning. No matter what happens, he never fails to put it on the corner of the desk in the living room. He—"

"How long?" Mycroft cuts in, knowing completely that Sherlock had started that particular routine in his teens so he would be able to keep track of his own food and drink intake and whether he had eaten or drunk anything... He's surprised he's using that technique once more.

John looks at the cup in question and deduces, "About—I don't know—two or three days."

"Hence the silent tenant which Mrs Hudson had assumed Sherlock is being," Mycroft says to himself. "I will be there with you shortly. Start with your search, Doctor Watson. My brother most probably had restarted his drug habit... again."

Before John says anything else, Mycroft—who stood up from his desk and quickly ordered a ride to Baker Street alone—hangs up the phone on him to call a certain familiar Detective Inspector.

John quickly calls Molly to help him with his situation, and asks her to bring some things needed in case Sherlock returns—just to confirm whether Sherlock had relapsed or not. It was a pleasant gift for him to know that Mary brought Rosie with her to a café near at Bart's to meet with Molly and that the two will arrive in a few minutes. One less phone call to make.

"Mrs Hudson!?" John yells from the top of the stairs.

"Yes, dear?" Mrs Hudson asks, running out of her flat in alarm and already climbing up the staircase towards Sherlock's flat.

"I just got off the phone with Mycroft. We gotta check the flat," he informs her.

Mrs Hudson pauses, looking at John and then at the room devastatingly. "Oh, _Sherlock_ ," she whispers dejectedly.

 **—oOo—**

Half an hour later, 221B Baker Street is now filled with very concerned people checking for an idiot's flat for drugs.

Just as Mrs Hudson and John had started on their search, Mycroft arrives and shows them some of Sherlock's recent activities based on the evidences scattered around the room. Greg came hurrying after, nodding a silent agreement with Mycroft—showing his loyalty to Sherlock since he is not a Detective Inspector at the moment.

Mary, holding Rosie in her arms, and Molly came after, with the latter grimacing around the room because of the situation they are in, and whom is now conversing with the off-duty Detective Inspector.

 _Kklreesshhhk_

They all quiet down and look at the direction of Sherlock's bedroom—which had been empty—after they hear the small sound of glass breaking.

The effect was immediate.

Mary quickly hands over Rosie to Mary, and takes her gun out from the holster hidden in her clothes, pointing it towards the direction of the door. John takes out his gun as well but keeps it pointed down. Greg simply has his hand on the gun still in his holster, ready to take it out in case something happens.

Mycroft is already holding his umbrella in a defence position, standing straight and alert with his hawk-like eyes glaring at Sherlock's door. Mrs Hudson has her arms crossed with one hand on her lips, worried, and standing just by the window. Molly tightens her hold on Rosie, and taking her role as godmother by moving as far as possible, away from everyone else, and nearer to the exit to save Rosie from harm.

They don't know it but the past couple of months—the past _year_ —had shaken them all up more than they'd like to admit.

Both John and Mary move towards the door with both of them raising a hand each to signal everyone else behind them to stay where they are and make sure not to make any sound.

Unless he wants to sleep in the couch tonight, John lets Mary walk up first but he places an arm around her waist for a quick turn just in case of a threat. Mary deliberately ignores this, knowing that arguing with John right now is a big No No.

Taking no shit, Mary yanks the door open and quickly points the gun at the space and at the head of the intruder. They all see a brunette with a raised eyebrow, looking at Mary with equal amounts of surprise and other emotions which John could not decipher.

"Must we _always_ greet each other this way?" the woman asks.

 _Irene Adler._

Everyone in the room looks at each other but those who hold weapons in their hands do not remove their grip.

"But you're dead," Mary says.

"You know her?" John asks his wife in surprise, looking at her and Irene.

"Why does no one stay dead around here?" Greg mutters under his breath, making Molly—who is standing closest to him—try hard to conceal her giggles.

"Still keeping secrets, then, are we, Rosamund?" Irene asks amusedly.

"I don't go by that name anymore, _Adler_."

"Oh," Irene replies with raised brows, "so we're back to surnames again, are we? Rosamund Mar—"

"What are you doing here?" Mary cuts her off before she announces her old full name... a name she had forgotten.

"I should ask _you_ the same question," she says before her eyes roam around the flat, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second. "Oh," she whispers almost gleefully as she masks her surprise, "I see that the whole package is here. What is the special occasion?"

"That's none of your business, Adler," Mary answers coldly, earning the attention of everyone in the room. John, in particular, is incredibly curious on the story of her and Mary.

Irene ignores her and looks at Mycroft. "Mr Holmes! A pleasure to see you again!" She moves forward but Mary blocks her path and still firmly points her gun at her. "We cannot keep dancing this game."

"I thought you like games?" Mary asks icily.

"Not when it becomes repetitive and boring," Irene quips.

"What are you doing here?" Mary demands almost dangerously.

"Mary," Molly whispers, tightening her hold on Rosie.

Irene tilts her head at the ex-assassin.

"My wife asked you a question," John finally says out loud, placing a hand on Mary's shoulder as well as giving Irene a cold hard look.

"Doctor Watson, it's been a while," Irene greets with a smirk. Her eyes fall for the old woman. "Mrs Hudson! I believe we had met briefly."

Mrs Hudson tilts her head in confusion before her eyes widen in recognition. "Oh, you! The woman with the phone thing! Oh, a friend of Sherlock's is always unforgettable, dear. You're one of _those_." She winks.

Everyone else raise their eyebrows at Mrs Hudson's words.

"Detective Inspector," Irene says, "I do not believe we've met, but I _do_ know _a lot_ of your subordinates." She smiles.

Greg clears his throat and finally relaxing from his alarmed position, not really believing that this woman is a threat—intimidating, yes, but a threat? He looks at Molly for slight confirmation but she simply shrugs in reply—catching Irene's attention on her and the child in her arms.

"Ahhh, Molly Hooper... Oh, how I've _always_ wanted to meet you and—" Her eyes drift down to little Rosie.

As she steps forward, Mary stops her and glares angrily. "Don't go anywhere near my daughter or Molly."

"Mary," John calms her down.

Mycroft intervenes, looking at Irene with masked indifference. "My brother had something to do with your survival, I take it?"

"Who else?" Irene smirks. "As I said before: I like to know people will be on my side _exactly_ when I need them to be."

"Ahhh, still using people, I see," Mary says with a sneer.

Irene smiles back at her. "I was born manipulative, Rosamund."

" _Mary_ ," Mary corrects.

"Oh, of course, your daughter is little Rosie. Rosamund ' _Rosie_ ' Watson. Not you."

John steps between her and Mary a bit to tell everyone that it's his turn to talk. "How do you know about her? us?"

"I've always known a lot about you, Doctor Watson, but never mind about that. First thing's first: where is Mister Holmes Junior?"

"What do you want from him?" Greg asks almost immediately, quickly becoming the Detective Inspector in his free time.

"That is between _him_ and _me_ , Detective Inspector."

"Miss Adler, whatever concern you have with my brother, I am sure we can settle this with a negotiation before he arrives."

Irene raises a brow and raises both her hands in mock surrender and putting them down to clap it beneath her.

"I have nothing against Sherlock."

Everyone takes note of her usage of Sherlock's first name.

"Well... except my body... but that's a different story," she adds teasingly.

John and Mary roll their eyes. Molly and Greg raise their brows in surprise and wonder. Mrs Hudson shakes her head in amusement. Mycroft sighs.

"So, where is he?" Irene asks them, down-to-business.

"He isn't here," Molly finally answers after a few more moments of silence. "He's gone."

"' _Gone_ '?" Irene asks, slightly alarmed in a way only John, Mary, and Mycroft had noticed.

"He's been missing for about three days and more," Greg informs her. "Since we all never checked up on him, he must have been missing far longer than we had anticipated."

" _Is_ he?" Irene asks.

"Is he what?" John asks.

From the bedroom, Irene passes the Watsons by and stands in the middle of the living room with everyone's eyes fixated on her whilst hers are fixated on their surroundings.

"Is he _really_ missing?" Irene asks, uncaring about the gun on the back of her head—only because she knows that Rosam— _Mary_ won't hurt her.

They all watch as Irene walk towards the fireplace but only Mycroft and John catch her eye move subtly towards the desk. Irene's eyes go and see the hidden cup of coffee (which was drunk halfway finished) underneath the sea of music sheets. Her eyes narrow but her mask returns as she looks over the outside world once more.

Mycroft starts, "If this is a matter of national security, we should head over to the—"

"It's not," Irene says in an almost distracted tone, looking out intensely.

Greg slowly offers, "Well, if you need the police—"

"I don't," Irene replies once more, oddly firmly and finally looking at all of them.

Her eyes roam around the room, taking in the details. She reminds John of Sherlock, in a way she never had before. Sure, she knows people and could tell you precisely what you are currently thinking... but she isn't observant in a way Sherlock is. She may take a few details but she is not a Holmes.

Her expertise is to know what people want, what they think they want, and what they need. His expertise is to know everything. But John is excessively sure about one thing:

 _They both know how people think._

She stares into everyone's eyes and John hides his irritability at having been unnecessarily scanned by another human x-ray. "He's back to his old habits again, isn't he?" she asks but not _really_ asking suddenly, snapping John back from his irritation.

Silence until John breaks it with a quiet and simple, "Yeah."

"You're gonna use that information against him, aren't you?" Mary asks quietly and finally placing the gun in the holster hidden under her coat to get Rosie from Molly's arms and tightening her grip on her daughter, not trusting the unanticipated woman.

"I told you," Irene replies seriously, "I have _nothing_ against him except my body and the wall." The last few words were meant is another joke or a usual Irene-Adler tease, but John does not see that from her oddly new vibe at all.

 _Irene Adler is angry_ , John thinks.

"I'll bring him back." She smirks.

 _Good luck seeing her again, Sherlock_...

"You?" John asks, slightly doubtful.

"My brother is untraceable as of this moment. He left his phone in his bedroom and every trace of his trackers are currently missing or are in this exact location," Mycroft informs her, also doubting.

"You don't know how I do what I do," Irene says, taking out her phone.

"Ahhh, your number one weapon," Mary comments.

Irene smiles. "A dominatrix is always good at handling secrets and information. Using people is my expertise."

Everyone grimaces at the fact that she may be using Sherlock once more. A feeling of mistrust emits from them, just as everyone's fierce protective streak to Sherlock shows up. Irene doesn't seem fazed by their reactions and John suspects that she must have done it on purpose. It's just the way she is—doing something like that for God-knows-what.

"My connections will astound you," she says, scrolling through her contacts. "They're all reliable, and the process if very simple. Are you sure you've tried to make all matters of contact?"

Mycroft blinks. "Of course, we did."

"I see," Irene says.

"Why do you think you can do it?" Mary asks.

"Because, _Mrs Watson_ , you may have the quality of going to people no one would bother, but you dug too deep," she says, placing the phone up her ear and waiting for the other end to pick up.

"I've called everyone that could lead us to Sherlock. Do not question my abilities," she says icily.

"Oh, I don't," she replies with the same look she gave John all those years ago when she told him those words— _Look at us both_. "I question your trust. I'll get him here in no time." Just then, the other end picks up.

Molly steps forward. "But Mr Holmes said that Sherlock can't—"

Irene looks at Molly with a small smile and raising a manicured index finger at her, making the latter shush up and blush at the look Irene is giving her.

Everyone watches her.

"Hello?... Yes, dear, it's me..."

John and Mary share a look at that.

"You know why... I see... And I believe I am not a part of that list?... Good because if I was, I would not be so forgiving and I would have to enforce a punishment."

Mrs Hudson giggles as Molly and Greg share another confused look at each other. Mycroft scoffs and rolls his eyes. John narrows his eyes at her in his usual ' _what the fuck_ ' manner. Mary shakes her head in exasperation because this is so very _her_.

"No, of course not... I wouldn't do that..." Irene whispers the last part almost conspiratorially, making everyone suspicious. "Don't ever say that I—yes, exactly... Good... Oh, and Bill dear?"

The last name sparks everyone's interest.

"You know what to do."

Irene hangs up.

"Ten minutes," she announces to everyone else as she exits the application on her phone and places it back in her pocket.

"I'll make all of us a cuppa," Mrs Hudson tells them with Irene giving a small nod of appreciation.

"Bill? Who's Bill?" Greg asks.

"You have Bill Wiggins's phone number," Mycroft deduces.

"I certainly haven't memorised it," Irene quips.

"' _Wiggins_ '? Bill _Wiggins_ , the drug user?" Mary asks in surprise. "You have his phone number."

"Despite his looks, he is very loyal to Sherlock," Irene replies with a small smug smile, "and very reliable on his whereabouts."

"But we called him. He said he didn't know a thing," Molly says.

"Mistakes can be made," Irene retorts.

"So you know where Sherlock is, then," Greg says, not caring about that for the moment.

"Yes," she replies, sitting on Sherlock's armchair—her position immediately obtaining the complete dominance of the room. Though everyone else is standing, and looking down at her, she seems to be like royalty—a Queen on her throne.

"Aren't you going to tell us where he is?" Molly asks.

"No," she says, resting her elbows on the armchair, crossing her legs and typing once more on her phone.

Once more, John is reminded of Sherlock but this time, in a way that has always reminder him of Sherlock in her.

"And why not?" John asks exasperatedly, placing his hands on his hips.

Silence.

John takes Rosie from Mary's arms to have a sense of control and to manage himself to not kill the woman. Sighing, he settles himself on his old armchair. Mary follows, sitting on the arm of the chair and resting a hand on John's thigh as a sense of having a _ground_ and also to calm herself as to not kill the woman.

Greg and Molly both decide to sit on the empty couch with Greg on its middle and Molly beside him, nearest to the door of the living room. They silently gesture Mycroft to sit on the available space beside Greg but Mycroft remains standing, crossing his arms and looking out of the window—refusing to be a part of _this_.

"For Sherlock's safety," Greg suddenly starts, taking everyone's attention, but his eyes are fixated on the woman sitting on Sherlock's armchair, "you really _should_ tell us where he is."

"His location doesn't matter anymore, Detective Inspector." Irene raises her head to look at him in the eyes. "He'll be here in a few minutes."

"You're never going to give us a straight answer, are you?" John asks. Irene smirks.

Mrs Hudson finally enters with the tea and gives everyone a cup before settling on the empty space beside Greg.

"You don't know where he is either, do you?" Mary asks, narrowing her eyes at Irene.

"Of course, I do," she replies, almost scoffing.

"Then why won't you tell us where he is?" Molly asks.

Mycroft decides to intervene. "Sherlock is a man of privacy concerning his vulnerable points—in this case, his drug habit, and had told his _friend_ , Wiggins, that we are not to be told of his whereabouts... and I believe Miss Adler had pointed out that she is not a part of the list of people banned from the information—the loophole Bill Wiggins is willing to use."

Mycroft eyes Irene and Irene glares back.

"It's 'cause she isn't even expected to be here in the first place," John contributes.

"But you respect his wish for keeping his location a secret," Molly points out. "You want to show him that you can be trusted."

Irene smirks. "Where's the fun in that?"

"No," Mary observes, "she doesn't need to show him that she can be trusted. He _already_ trusts _her_."

" _Sherlock_?" Greg asks in surprise.

"And she respects him enough not to jeopardise his trust," Mycroft says quietly.

"I do enjoy being talked about in the same room as if I'm not around," Irene says sarcastically.

 _We've hit a nerve_ , John thinks to himself.

"Sociopaths attract sociopaths," John comments, patting Mary's hand, and Mary wraps her hand around his and squeezes it in understanding.

"Why do you think we're all gathered in this room, Doctor Watson?" Irene asks John pointedly. He snorts at that.

Just then, they hear the door slam open downstairs and two people conversing with one of them being a bit too loud and one being exasperated.

"I'm going to murder him," Molly says under her breath.

"You'll have to get in line, Molly," John says, staring at the door as they all wait in anticipation.

"This is stupid! It's so boring in here!" They hear Sherlock whine.

"Believe me: It won't be," Bill comments.

"Why? Was someone murdered up there? I better not be the killer of this one this time," they hear Sherlock say.

As the door finally opens, everyone but Irene stands up. All of them notice Bill look at her exasperatedly and her giving him a small look of understanding.

The detective in question has his arm around Bill's shoulder since he can barely stand straight from being high.

Everyone else notices how his eyes immediately finds Irene but he looks away quickly and ignores her altogether—as if she was expected and unwanted.

"What? Who are—Why are—What are you all doing here?" Sherlock asks confusedly, squinting his eyes to look at everyone else closely. "Are we having another party? Is it a funeral? My funeral?" he asks, finally walking away from Bill and swaying as he walks.

"It bloody could be," John mutters under his breath, handing Rosie back to her mother.

"John," Mary calms him, sensing his anger and seeing his fist clench dangerously.

"Sherlock—" Greg starts in his usual fatherly tone but Molly cuts him off.

"You told us you'd stop! You were already recovering from last time and this will only cut off your lifespan for _days_!" Molly yells, a vein popping out on her forehead from anger.

"No, I didn't," Sherlock points out. " _You_ told _me_ to stop, and I acknowledged and appreciated your concern."

"You _promised_ ," Molly whispers in anger.

"I promised to stop worrying you."

Molly fumes, looking away. Greg places a hand on her elbow to calm her down. When Molly breathes in and nods that she is fine, Greg places his hands on his hips as he looks at the younger man once more.

"Well, you're doing a bloody good job at it," Greg comments.

Sherlock nods enthusiastically. "I did. The secrecy was an assurance of your lack of concern about me—"

Molly's anger dissipates at that statement, understanding immediately the deeper meaning of that sentence. She looks at the others' faces but they seem to be too distracted with their current situation to realise what those words mean— _No_. She looks at Irene Adler's face to see the understanding in her eyes as well. She really does have a _something_ with him, doesn't she?

"—that is, before you all started swarming in my flat," Sherlock continues.

"No," John yells, "you don't get to tell us shit like that anymore, Sherlock."

Greg straightens up. "Sherlock, you know the rules: no cases until you're clean."

Sherlock's eyes look up at the ceiling as if he is thinking hard. "Wellllll, I'm not taking any cases right now sooo—" he shrugs comically—"it's definitely fine."

"No, it's _definitely not_ fine, _Sherlock_ ," Mycroft almost yells.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock says, looking at him in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?" He glares at John. "You called him again, didn't you?"

"No. I bloody called everyone. Now, Sherlock, I fucking told you to call and talk to me when this kind of _shit_ happens again, but nooo, you're Sherlock Holmes, the great suppressor of your bloody feelings."

" _Really_ , John." Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"Mr Holmes," Irene starts, finally standing up and staying in the middle of the room, just in front of Sherlock.

He pauses mid-step and without even acknowledging her, passes her by and sits back on his armchair as he glares at everyone else except Irene.

His eyes catch Bill who is leaning on the doorway. "I thought I told you not to tell them where I am, _Billy_."

"I didn't tell them where you are," Bill replies with a tired sigh, flopping down on the now-empty couch, placing both his feet up on the table and crossing his arms. "I didn't even know they were this many in here."

"List, Sherlock," Mycroft says.

"What, Mycroft? You want a shopping list? Want to buy some more food for your diet?"

"Did you make a list?"

"I hardly know what your eating habits are these days, Mycroft."

"I'm not playing this game with you, brother dear."

Sherlock sneers, glaring at his brother, "I'm not expecting to overdose every time I use, Mycroft."

"No, you had enough to be on the verge of having one," Irene finally comments, slowly walking towards the window with a tone as if they were talking about the weather.

Sherlock whispers, subtly turning his head a bit to her direction, not really wanting to look at her but the temptation can be a bit overbearing, "As if you'd know."

Irene turns a bit to regard him. "I do. Oh, Mr Holmes, you know I do."

Sherlock clears his throat and sighs, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He looks at everyone else. "I'm here. I'm fine. You can all go." He gestures them all out the door lazily.

"We're not leaving until you tell us what you took, Sherlock," Greg scolds him.

"Are you gonna arrest me again, Detective Inspector?" he asks in an odd almost angry tone.

"I'm off-duty."

"Of course, you are."

"Just tell them, Sherlock, please," Mrs Hudson pleads.

"Mrs Hudson, you, herbal soothers, now, don't you think?" he asks. Mrs Hudson's lips form a thin line and she sighs.

"Molly will test you," John says.

Molly takes out what she need. "He'll probably only have days left," she comments absentmindedly and angrily.

"Might as well enjoy it, right, Sherlock?" Irene says in a way John could only describe as _burning ice_.

Sherlock clenches his jaw to stop himself from saying anything. He shakes his head once more, running a hand through his hair and rubbing his forehead.

"Sherlock," Mary starts, sitting on the arm of John's chair as she cradles Rosie, "just tell us so we can monitor your process of drug addiction."

"You want me to believe that letting you test me will be of use to me instead of the other way around."

"For God's sake, Sherlock, we only want to help you!" Molly bellows.

"I'm taking a considerable and controlled amount," Sherlock retorts.

"For fuck's sake, give us a bloody list, you pompous prick, and pee in the fucking jar," John finally yells.

Sherlock narrows his eyes at him. "You shouldn't be talking like that in front of your daughter, John."

John shakes his head. "No. You deal with this," he tells everyone else. "I—I'm done. I'm done with all this... crap," he grumbles, pointing at Sherlock and sitting back down.

Mary looks at Irene pointedly, knowing that she knows people best and how to get a way with them.

Irene's lips form a thin line in dissatisfaction as she walks towards Sherlock. Slowly, she kneels down in front of him in the very same way she had done five years ago.

As she does this, to others' confusion and amusement, Sherlock turns away pointedly and is as if he is making an effort not to look at her.

"Tell me which and how many drugs you took, Sherlock," Irene asks quietly but commandingly.

Sherlock jerks at the sound of his name but pointedly ignores her and keeps quiet.

"Why are you all still here for?" Sherlock asks everyone else—who are all staring at him.

"Obviously, Mr Holmes, they want to know everything you've taken," Irene replies. "For some reason, they all care about you."

Sherlock sighs and tells the others. "Leave now. I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Molly comments.

"Come on, Sherlock," Greg sighs.

"Look at me," Irene says. He doesn't. " _Look. at. me._ "

Sherlock looks down on the floor. He mutters, "Get out of my head," under his breath although everyone hears him anyway.

Mycroft and John share a look at that, and so does Molly and Greg. Mary tilts her head at the scene before her. Mrs Hudson grimaces, knowing Sherlock had a new habit of talking and seeing things that aren't there.

"I will leave your head if you give me a list," Irene replies.

 _Extracting information from a vulnerable man_ , Mary thinks, _so very her._

"I'm not talking to you," Sherlock whispers, looking at the fireplace. "Shut up," he says, rubbing his face.

"Which is it this time? Morphine? Cocaine? Heroin?"

Sherlock chuckles. "Heroine."

"You took heroin?" Irene asks. "How much?"

"No," Sherlock corrects, finally looking at her in the eye, "no, not heroin—the drug—but heroine with an _e_ —a _heroine_."

Irene shakes her head in confusion and amusement. "What's—"

"That's you."

"Me?"

"A heroine."

Irene snorts. "I am no heroine, Sherlock."

"You're here to tell reason... I really should delete you in my head, you know. You're getting really irritating. I'm surprised you're even clothed," Sherlock comments.

Everyone shares an amused look at each other. Greg whips out his phone and starts filming Sherlock.

"Well, I suppose you could be a heroin, too."

"With an _e_?" she asks in confusion.

"No, without an _e_."

"The drug?" Irene asks.

"Addictive," Sherlock mutters to himself. He shakes his head. "Oh, I'm so lucky you're just a fraction of my imagination. _She_ would not let me live that down."

"How much exactly did you take, Mr Holmes?" Irene asks.

"Enough," Sherlock replies.

"And what did you take?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Ironically, heroin... No _e_... Yup, heroin... well, _mostly_."

"Anything else?" Irene asks.

"Why are you interrogating me? You know what they were. You're _me_ ," Sherlock asks confusedly. "Well, no, you're _her_ but you are a construct form built in my mind. You _should_ know already."

"I'm a dominatrix, Mr Holmes. Making people say what they are trying to hide is one of my many specialties."

Sherlock snorts. "Blackmail."

"Protection."

"From who?"

"From yourself."

Sherlock grumbles, looking away once more. "I did make a list, you know. I just don't want to listen to them yapping away at my life decisions."

"Excuse me? _Yapping_?!" John roars.

" _John_!" Mary scolds, hushing a now-crying Rosie.

"What?" Sherlock asks, looking at the room. "What the hell are you all still doing here?"

"We never left in the first place, Sherlock," Greg says.

"Hand me that list now, brother mine," Mycroft says.

"I said _leave_ ," Sherlock yells.

"Why are you so willing to tell her?" Molly asks curiously.

Sherlock's head snaps so quickly, everyone thought he'd break his neck from it. "What? What did you say?"

"I asked why you're so willing to tell her," Molly repeats.

"Tell who?"

" _Her_ ," Molly replies, gesturing at Irene who moves away from her old position and stands up in the middle of the room with her arms crossed.

"You could see her?" Molly nods. "What? Are you drugged?"

"Sherlock, we can all see her," Mrs Hudson reassures quietly.

"What? So—so—so, y—you're all drug users, too, now? Huh? Is that it? Is that why you're all gathered here to see me?" he asks in confusion. "Are we having a drug party?"

"Mr Holmes," Irene starts but Sherlock is too confused to respond. " _Sherlock_ ," she says, returning from her position and placing a hand on his.

Sherlock looks down on their hands and looks up to look deep inside her eyes.

She smirks. "Am I always resonating deep in your mind palace?"

"What? Why are you asking me that? You're me... aren't you?" he asks the last part uncertainly.

Irene laughs and squeezes his hand tighter. Sherlock looks at it, confused. "Sherlock, dear, as much as I want to have your _creativity_ , I am _not_ you."

"Could have fooled me," Greg comments under his breath, making Molly smirk.

"But—but I—I—you are—you— _what_?!" Sherlock asks.

"Words, Mr Holmes. You need to use them," Irene comments.

"Y—you..."

"Do you always talk to me and think of me without clothes on?" Irene smirks.

"Seems you've been exposed with substances for far too long, little brother... and this only further confirms that this is much worse than the previous predicament. You will need to be monitored once more."

"Woman, you're in London," Sherlock says, as if seeing Irene for the first time and ignoring Mycroft completely.

"I am," she says, standing up and walking towards the kitchen.

"Why?" Sherlock asks, following her and standing by the doorway to the kitchen. "What are you doing here?" He watches as she goes through his cupboards.

"A short visit."

"No."

"A _long_ visit."

"Why?"

"Am I not allowed a visit?"

"I'm asking you _why_. I never said I forbade you."

"Of course, you didn't. You can never command me to do anything and you can never expect me to obey you, can you? Unless you want another punishment coming?"

Mary raises a brow. _Oh, she is a master at changing the subject_ , she thinks to herself.

"Are punishments all that you can think of?"

"According to you, apparently, I am a heroine. I believe heroines are those who punish those who had sinned."

"You're the sinner, woman."

"I suppose I am..." She smirks. "What will you do about that, Mr Holmes?"

"That is up for you to decide."

She hums. "My terms."

"Your terms," he says seriously.

Irene blinks and sighs, turning around to face Sherlock completely. The latter straightens up knowingly.

Meanwhile, in the living room, with everyone standing and watching the scene in the kitchen unfold, Mycroft sighs and looks at everyone else.

"I will be sending some people who—"

John cuts him off. "I am Sherlock's doctor, Mycroft. Mary is his nurse. We have Molly to handle the drug testing. Greg is in charge and will handle with law precautions and how to get away with this. You're a present family member and Mrs Hudson is knowledgable in the art of what to do with idiot junkies. I think we're all set."

"Then why is _she_ here?" Mycroft asks, eyeing Irene who is still focused on talking to Sherlock.

"She's his voice of reason," Mary answers, "and for some reason, he trusts her."

"Loves her, you mean," John corrects.

Mary gestures in a way that means, _Yeah, I suppose we could call it that._

"The one woman that matters," Mycroft mutters.

"Excuse us?" Mrs Hudson asks as she, Molly, and Mary look at the British Government pointedly.

"You are all his _friends_ , Mrs Hudson... but _she_ , as much as I hate to admit it, is the _woman_."

" _The_ woman," John corrects just as the women start to say that _they_ are _women_.

"I can't believe Sherlock has a girlfriend," Greg comments, "and a very attractive one. I can't even handle a date."

John, Mary, and Mrs Hudson share a look before subtly pushing Molly towards his general direction.

"Oh, sorry," they both say with Greg catching Molly.

Though these two stay oblivious, the others notice how Greg's hand never leaves Molly's arm and that Molly seems to move nearer to the Detective Inspector.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Irene looks at Sherlock.

"I never expected you go back to this habit again without a case," she starts.

Sherlock sighs. "I—"

"You may be married to your work, Mr Holmes, but the drug is your mistress."

"You shouldn't be here," Sherlock says, surprisingly sober-like.

"You cannot dictate what I do."

"No."

Irene sighs. "You told me to come here," she asks.

"What? When?" Sherlock asks in confusion.

"You sent a text... _You know where to find me_ ," she quotes.

Sherlock nods. "Ahhh, yes... That... Something that John said."

"What did he say?" Irene asks.

"Something about grabbing opportunities."

Irene hums. "Mr Holmes?"

"What?"

"Stop taking drugs."

"You were never vocal about that before."

"I'd rather know you are one hundred percent clean, Mr Holmes... I don't want any... complications."

Everyone looks on in interest at that, believing and mentally confirming that the stoic and cold dominatrix may care about the equally stoic and emotion-evading detective more than she admits. Sherlock believes she is talking about _something else_. Irene is thinking of both.

Sherlock shifts uncomfortably at the attention. "Fine," he answers, much to everyone else's amusement.

"If you relapse, you know the punishment, Mr Holmes," Irene says with a smirk.

"The whip hand?" Sherlock asks sarcastically and disapprovingly.

Irene grins. "Worse."

"What?" Sherlock asks.

"Abstinence," she says seriously and firmly.

Sherlock blinks once, looking deep in her eyes and moving dangerously closer towards her. "The heroin or the heroine," he whispers.

"Choose wisely," she whispers huskily.

"Easy. You're both," Sherlock says before grabbing her and crushing their lips together.


End file.
